


all too well.

by WennyT



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Best read with All Too Well playing, Can be read as Jung/Unknown Character if desired, Gen, Gift Fic, M/M, POV First Person, Song: All Too Well (Taylor Swift), the other party is unnamed in the fic, twitDMfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:07:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25631029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WennyT/pseuds/WennyT
Summary: Hey, you call me up again just to break me like a promise / so casually cruel in the name of being honest.
Relationships: Jung Yunho (DBSK)/Other(s), Jung Yunho/Shim Changmin
Comments: 16
Kudos: 99





	all too well.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nadia （jellylove_nadia)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Nadia+%EF%BC%88jellylove_nadia%29).



> For Nad, who was kind enough to let me word vomit this over DM, when All Too Well came on Spotify Shuffle and my fingers got itchy. 
> 
> My mood has been bittersweet due to all the deaths (yes, plural) in the family. This was a good way to exorcise some demons temporarily. 
> 
> Comments are love. Will upload isekai au + final official chapter of voc au next week.

"Hey," he rings me out of the blue one afternoon. 

I'm at the park near my place, because it's good weather to just sit outside. Chilly.

My phone screen flashes silently with the call. I don't want to pick up.

But he's still saved as _him_ , in my phone, and not a string of strange numbers. I haven't deleted his number, nor him.

I can't. Not yet. 

"Yunho?" He tries. His tone suggests it's not the first time he's said my name. I've been silent for too long.

"Hi," I say. I try to sound polite. "How can I help you?"

He clears his throat. I think my response must have shocked him, however slightly. I haven't spoken like this before, to him.

I don' think he's ever heard me so polite. It's a new thing I'm trying. I'm a little proud of myself.

"Did you- receive the things?"

"You mean my books and stuff?" I say, deliberately careless. Then I can't resist a dig, petty as it may be. "The ones you sent back?" 

I wait. 

He mumbles a quiet "yes".

"I got them," I say. And because I'm a sucker for pain, and he's derided me laughingly before, when we were still a _we_ , for being masochistic, "I got the clothes and the shoes and the books, but I think I'm still missing some things. Some of the art that we- that I bought...?"

"Right," he fumbles. "Right. I was thinking- those might be kind of fragile. I can drive them over-"

"Oh, no," I say brightly, and look up. The maple leaves are turning. The air is crisp. It’ll be lovely for a walk, or a drive. "Are you home now? Your home, I mean."

"I- yes," he says, startled.

Clearly he had expected me to ask something else, because he didn't lie.

"Awesome," I stand up from the bench, and pat at my trousers for dust. "I have a free pocket of time now. I'll drop by to pick them up."

"Yun-" he starts.

I hang up, and draw a breath.

The air smells nice. Cold, and fresh. The leaves have all turned red; vibrant autumnal fire.

\--

I ring his doorbell. His door opens barely a second later.

He hovers awkwardly at the threshold, "I could have driven them over to you."

"Traffic isn't that good coming from Jayang to my place," I say, and smile politely. "Is it okay for me to come in to get them? Or do you have company?"

He shrinks a little, and coughs, and straightens back to his full height, just very slightly taller than me. 

We used to laugh about that.

We're not laughing now.

"No," he offers me a smile. It looks pained. "I don't have company. Come on in."

I toe my shoes off, and to the side, so they line up neatly, and look up.

He's still looking down, and at my shoes, sequestered tidily together.

There's a twist to his mouth, a curl that I don't particularly want to read meaning into.

I put my hands into my pockets. "Should we...?"

"Ah," he startles.

There's something awkward and almost cringing in that movement. Like a deer in headlights, I think to myself. 

He rubs at his nape, and turns. "Right! Sorry. I've got them in the living room, let's go in, yes." 

Something in my heart still tears at that. Little bits and bobs of our life together, reduced to a "them in the living room".

I smile brighter. "After you."

He does have some of my things in the living room. A couple of paintings we bought together. A set of knick knacks from our last trip to Japan. A figurine, already carefully wrapped in cellophane and styrofoam. Such consideration.

Pity he didn't take the same level of care with my heart. 

Then again, it was my fault for expecting too much.

I cough, and tear myself away from unhelpful thoughts. "Is that all?"

"I think so," he's awkward. He doesn't quite know what to do with his hands. It’s a little funny. "I know I've got some things at your place too. How do you want to- I can drive over with you later and get them-"

"Oh," I say, and scuff at the floor a little with my sock-clad foot. Then I smile harder at him. "I don't think there's a need for you to do that. I just redecorated."

It's autumn, but even indoors as we are, he's not dressed for the weather. It means I can see his bare toes curling reflexively unto themselves, against the chilly marble floor.

"I... see." He says, after a little while. "Okay, then. Okay."

Humming, I cast an eye again over the things he's deemed now belonging to me. My voice is brisk. Business-like. "Do you have a box?"

"I can go look for one," he says, and flees my presence. 

\--

My gaze wanders over the plethora of things, huddled in a disconsolate lump in the middle of his living room. I don't dare to look too closely at the rest of the space.

What if he's made changes to it? What if I see something else that I don't want to see?

Instead, I let my eyes go over the paintings, and the figurine, and the knick knacks, and some of the smaller bundles in little odd shapes.

My clothes and shoes and books have already been sent to my place, but- 

I pause.

He comes back then, with a largish box, cardboard and pretty sturdy. Everything should be able to fit inside; even the paintings. I decline his aid politely, and pack them in myself.

Contrary to popular opinion -or maybe it's just solely his- I _do_ know how to be neat, and tidy. 

I've got them all neatly lined up inside in no time. There isn't much, anyway.

Hefting the box in my arms, I turn. He's got his arms about himself, and his hands tucked under the pits of his old faded black tee.

I suppress a spurt of amusement, despite myself.

Huddled into himself like that and looking almost scared, anyone else looking in would have thought _he_ was the one who was dumped. 

Drifting behind me, he follows, but there's something tentative in his steps. Almost like he's a ghost in his own home.

I pause at the threshold, for him to open the front door for me. The box is heavy in my arms.

He reaches around me, to thumb open the door with the biometric mechanism.

"Hey," I say, careful and low. I don't quite dare to breathe, because I don't think I can say this if I have to smell the familiarity of him. "Remember how I had this red scarf? I think I left it in your wardrobe, when" _you rang me and broke me and broke us and today you rang again and I nearly broke too_ "we called it off."

He stills.

I stand there, and I try my best to only take shallow breaths. They sound overly loud in the silence.

"So I didn't see it amongst the things you mailed to me," I continue. I think I sound calm enough. Carelessly inquiring. "I mean, there was quite a bit of stuff. Maybe it was chucked somewhere." 

I smile widely straight ahead, at the blank metal of the door. The edges of the box are digging into the creases of my elbows. "Are you sure it's still not here?" 

He'd always loved that scarf on me.

"No," he says.

His voice is low, controlled, and so near. Just over my shoulder.

We'd be face to face, if I turn.

I don't turn.

"No," he says again, and a little louder. "I don't think I've seen it."

He's lying.

I laugh anyway, and heft the box up higher against my chest.

Well. I tried.

"Just thought I'd ask," I keep my voice cheerful, and perky. It sounds grating even to my own ears. Just a little bit more. I only need to hold it, for just a little more. "I really like that scarf."

His answer is inaudible.

"See you around, then," I say, and step out, beyond where he's got the door open. "Maybe in ten years."

The edges of my mouth hurt. I beam in his direction, and keep my gaze focused on just slightly past his ear. "Maybe never."

He makes a muffled noise, and then my name. "Yunho."

I talk over him. "Take care of yourself."

Then I turn, and walk away from what had used to be mine, and ours.

I keep smiling. I shouldn’t stop, even though it hurts. At least until I’m more like myself again. 

  
  


_\-- end._


End file.
